


i won't let you go (this way now)

by iamremy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, No Character Death, and the ending is happy, assuming Stiles is the one to kill the bastard, mentions of Allison, set post-nogitsune
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 07:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1337005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/iamremy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Anyone with half a brain will tell you colors don't smell.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>How do you deal, when the one person you think you might love is lying lifeless in a hospital bed in front of you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	i won't let you go (this way now)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is set after the nogitsune is killed. I really really _really_ want Stiles to be the one to kill it, so that's what happens here.
> 
>  **WARNING**  
>  There are feels.
> 
> ~~of fucking course there are feels what were you expecting~~
> 
> Props to [Iz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_izhyper/) for beta-reading it and helping me with the title, which is from _Someone to Save You_ by OneRepublic.

 

 

Anyone with half a brain will tell you colors don't smell. They're _colors_. Paint, crayons, lead can and do smell, but the color itself has no scent.

* * *

  
The white smells of death. Clichéd, Derek knows, but clichés exist for a reason.

White walls. White floor. White sheets. White clothes. White skin.

It's been 12 hours, and there's no change. The doctors have no idea what's wrong, but Derek knows. When you push a katana into a nogitsune with all the strength your already weak body has got, it tends to take a toll. Medically speaking, nothing much is wrong. Other than a blood transfusion to replace the blood he lost from his stomach wound, no medical intervention was required. His heartbeat is strong and steady, and his breathing is even.

What's got all the doctors baffled is the fact that Stiles hasn't woken up since the moment he was been brought in, passed out from exhaustion and pain. It's just a blood transfusion. He should be fine. He should be home.

But he didn't wake up even after the anesthesia and sedatives wore off, and so he's still here, asleep in a hospital bed while his distraught father keeps vigil.

* * *

  
He can remember vividly the way Stiles snatched up the katana, turning a deaf ear to everyone's protests, and slammed it into the nogitsune with a force that no one who knew him could believe. Skinny, defenseless Stiles, and he had just proved himself the strongest, did what everyone had hitherto tried and failed. 

And the nogitsune had just grinned at Stiles before disintegrating into black dust. A moment later, Derek heard a stutter in Stiles's heartbeat and turned around just in time to see him crumple to the ground, skin so pale it stood out clearly against his dark hair... And pain coming off him in waves, a pungent and ugly odor. And with that scent in his nostrils, Derek couldn't bring himself to care about Scott seeing to an injured Isaac, or Kira holding up Lydia. All he could see, all that his world narrowed down to in that instant, was Stiles's lifeless form on the ground, katana still clutched tightly in one hand.

So Derek gathered up Stiles and ran, ran faster than he ever had in his life, and didn't let go until Melissa was there, prying Stiles' limp body from his grip and murmuring meaningless assurances.

* * *

  
The Sheriff was hopeful as first, and Derek knows he's still trying to be, but he can feel his resolve weakening with each hour that passes. He may be new to their world, but even he knows that not all hurts can be fixed. Derek remains at his side, a silent, brooding presence, but the Sheriff appreciates it.

Scott is there too, with only a few scratches to show what they've been through. He sits silently with Derek and the Sheriff, and goes on food runs when no one else feels up to it.

But mostly the three of them sit silently, Derek and Scott listening to Stiles' heartbeat and the Sheriff watching his ECG.

* * *

  
24 hours, and Stiles hasn't moved at all. The Sheriff leaves, but Derek can hear his shaky breathing from the other side of the hospital just the same as he could when they were in the same room.

Scott falls asleep, head resting near Stiles' hand.

Derek waits.

* * *

  
At 36 hours, Melissa comes in and makes Scott go home for some proper rest. Scott protests, but she's his mother and he listens in the end. She makes the Sheriff leave too, because he hasn't eaten anything in hours. 

She pauses at the door like she wants to say something, but then changes her mind and then says, "Derek, you need to rest too. He won't want you forgetting to take care of yourself for him."

Derek nods but doesn't move.

* * *

  
He finally steps out when it's been 48 hours with no change. He wanders aimlessly around the hospital, and wonders why exactly hospitals smell so nauseating. He compares it to Stiles' soft scent and makes an almost unconscious decision.

He finds himself sitting in the passenger seat of Stiles' Jeep, inhaling deeply the different scents that mix with each other. He can smell traces of Scott and curly fries, but it is predominantly Stiles and Derek takes it in like it's dearer than oxygen. 

He doesn't know if he can ever smell it again, untainted by pain and suffering and white.

* * *

  
There are a lot of memories in the Jeep. Derek tries not to think of anything, least of all Stiles, but with Stiles's scent all around him it's impossible not to. So he lets his mind wander back in time, to a young boy with moles on his pale skin and words always falling out of his mouth, a boy who is skinny but still strong, so very strong, and has the best laugh Derek's ever heard. 

He thinks of this boy, and wonders where he's gone. He wonders if he'll ever come back.

* * *

  
He goes back to Stiles' room some eight or so hours later. As expected, there is no change, but Derek feels the sharp sting of false hope anyway. The Sheriff is asleep in a plastic chair. The man hasn't moved in hours, and Derek feels a sudden burst of empathy for him. He does, after all, know what it's like to see his only family lying unresponsive in a hospital bed. 

He asks a nurse for a blanket and gently covers the Sheriff with it. The man doesn't stir, so great is his fatigue. 

With sleep miles away and nothing else to do, Derek takes to watching Stiles. His chest moves in time with his breathing, and his heartbeat is steady. His stomach wound is healing. There is no reason for him to not be awake. 

When Peter had been comatose, a nurse had told Derek that sometimes, talking to comatose patients often helped bring them back. He had never spoken to Peter - the idea had seemed stupid back then - but now he's willing to try. If it brings Stiles back, there isn't much he isn't willing to do. 

"I think it's about time you woke up," he begins, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Everything's okay now. Except for you. Your father is worried sick. He hasn't gone home since."

There is no change in the ECG. It's like Derek's voice doesn't even reach Stiles.

He sighs and tries again. "It's okay to come back now," he says softly. "Nothing is going to hurt you now. You're safe."

Stiles's heart jumps a bit and then settles. Nothing else happens after that, no matter what Derek says, and finally he gives up, exhausted but feeling some measure of hope again. 

* * *

  
He goes back to the Jeep after the Sheriff wakes up. They nod at each other as greeting, and Derek brings the Sheriff some breakfast before letting him know where he'll be. 

Stiles's scent is still there but musty, as if something is slowly overtaking it. A finger swiped over the dashboard proves that to be dust, and something twinges inside Derek. He doesn't want to lose Stiles's scent. 

He thinks back to when he first saw Stiles after the nogitsune was kicked out of his body. The kid looked terrible - bags under his eyes, skin paler than usual and weight loss evident in the bones that poked out from under his skin. And despite that he also looked like the most beautiful thing Derek had ever seen, cheesiness and clichés be damned. A huge weight slid off his chest, and he actually smiled from the sheer relief.

It's been 3 days. Derek realizes he misses Stiles, misses him the same way one might miss a finger, or a toe, or a limb, or a heart. He misses him so much he feels hollow with the intensity of it, and isn't that strange? 

He doesn't know he's crying, tears falling silently down his face.

* * *

  
Scott's back when Derek returns, this time with Isaac in tow. Grief is written across their faces in permanent ink, and Derek wonders if it'll ever truly go. Allison's loss hasn't been easy on anyone, but it's been hardest on them.

Isaac is holding Stiles's hand, and there are tears standing in his eyes. Scott just sits and watches Stiles breathe, not saying a word. He hasn't spoken since Stiles has been admitted. It's almost like he's taken a vow not to speak until Stiles does.

Derek sits down next to the Sheriff and joins the vigil, and none of them speak. Words will never express the agony of waiting. In their center, oblivious to their pain, lies a young boy whom Derek thinks he loves.

* * *

  
He tries Deaton, who tries his best. It doesn't work and sadly Deaton reflects that maybe it's Stiles's time. Maybe they should just let him go. 

The Sheriff's fist in the back of his shirt is the only thing that prevents Derek from ripping Deaton's throat out with his teeth.

* * *

  
It has been a week. The Sheriff hasn't left. Neither has Derek. They speak to Stiles sometimes - the Sheriff asks him to come back to him, to be his baby boy again. Derek quietly repeats that he's safe, and nothing is going to hurt him now. They both pretend not to hear the raw pain in the other's voice.

The Jeep is dustier than it ever has been, and slowly Stiles's scent is being overtaken. Derek has to work harder to find it, even with his enhanced senses. He sits silently with his head leaning against the window, and as always he thinks about Stiles. The kid is never off his mind.

Stiles has a way of reeling people in. He seems loud and annoying at first, and then he wriggles his way into people's hearts and refuses to budge. Just as well - the world won't be the same without him. He is important to too many people. 

And he is everything to Derek somehow. He stumbled awkwardly into Derek's life, a tangle of arms and legs and sarcasm, and he refused to leave, and now Derek thinks he can't live without him.

* * *

  
Lydia, Kira and Ethan visit too, but not as often. Lydia is too entrenched in her own grief to even get out of bed some days. Mostly she just sits silently next to Stiles, not touching him or even looking at him. Scott takes her hand, and together they grieve for what they've lost, and what they're slowly but surely losing. 

Ethan never visits for more than ten minutes. He is not unwelcome but he does not belong either. His face carries the same tattoo of pain that Scott, Isaac and Lydia carry. Danny visits with him sometimes. He doesn't say much either, just sits with Stiles and sometimes pats his hand, joking in the vain hope that Stiles will answer. 

Coach Finstock came once. That was an awkward visit that Derek would prefer never to think of again, but the man's sincerity is appreciated. 

Melissa is always there, for Stiles and his father and for Scott. Raphael McCall came once, but left when he realized he couldn't ever hope to understand what they were all going through.

* * *

  
Two weeks. The visits have dwindled down to the occasional well-wisher. Scott isn't there as much, and he still hasn't said a word. The Sheriff doesn't leave, but he doesn't do much of anything else either. He looks lost. 

Derek goes out to the Jeep and sits in it for a long while before realizing something is off. He takes a deep breath, and sniffs the air. Something isn't right. He doesn't feel as close to Stiles anymore here, not like he did before.

It hits him like a ton of bricks, leaving him reeling, clutching the hollow space where his heart used to be. And with it comes an entire plethora of new fears - what if he forgets the color Stiles's eyes shine in the sun? What if he can't remember Stiles's laugh, or even his voice? What if one day he wakes up and Stiles isn't the first thing that comes to his mind? What if one day... he forgets that there ever was a young boy whom he loved dearly?

The Jeep doesn't smell like Stiles anymore.

* * *

  
He thinks maybe he should say it. Maybe he should let Stiles know, and maybe it will be enough to bring him back. 

Then again, maybe not, but Derek won't rest until he tries. At the very least he'll have it out in the open.

* * *

  
He waits till the Sheriff leaves for lunch with Melissa at her insistence, and then he slowly approaches Stiles's bed. Paying attention to the ECG, he carefully takes Stiles's hand into his own, and begins to speak.

"You're safe. Nothing will hurt you now." That's routine; he says it every night before he goes to sleep. "I... I miss you. And I've been thinking about a lot of things... You know sometimes, you don't know what you had till you don't have it anymore? It feels a lot like that right now. I never realized how bleak everything really is when you're not around to cheer me up. Help with my PMSing, you used to say. I miss that. And I miss you. 

"You wanna know something funny? I never knew how much I cared until I saw you fall. I did care, but I never knew it was this much. Though to be honest, I've been ready to do anything for you from the moment you burst into the loft, panicking and crying and telling me that my girlfriend is a darach. Funny how things work, isn't it?"

It's the most he's said in weeks. Ignoring the ache in his throat, he goes on, "I guess what I'm trying to say is that, somewhere along the line, you became a part of my life. A really great part. One I can't do without. And I need you back. I don't know what I'll do without you anymore." He takes a deep breath. Moment of truth. "Stiles... you're an idiot. You are loud and annoying and reckless and you always put everyone else first. There are times when I've wanted to kill you, because the things you get up to worry me so much. I'm always anxious that you'll do something stupid and noble and hurt yourself in the process. And I was right, wasn't I? You went and did just that, you stupid fucking idiot." A hoarse, jagged laugh leaves his throat. "When you wake up I'm going to kill you, you bloody moron. And it won't be because you're annoying sometimes. It'll be because I love you, you stupid, idiotic son of a bitch."

Somewhere between his monologue he had started crying, and he wipes the tears off with the back of his hand. "Did you hear that, Stiles? I really hope you understood that, because I'm not gonna be saying it again. Not until you're awake."

He watches eagerly for any signs of life, but there are none. The ECG is the same as always. There is no additional brain activity indicated on the monitor. Stiles hasn't heard a word, if these are anything to go by.

With a soft sound of despair, Derek buries his head in his arms. He doesn't move for hours.

* * *

  
He's not sure when he fell asleep, but it must have been a long time, judging by the horrible taste in his mouth. There is a third heartbeat in the room, and Derek deduces the Sheriff is back and sleeping in his chair again. 

Slowly he lifts his head to look at Stiles, who looks exactly the same as he has for weeks. In fact, everything is the same, except that there's a new scent in the air.

Derek's heart skips a beat when he next inhales. It's not much - barely there, in fact - but it's enough to have a brand new wave of hope wash over him. He can smell Stiles properly again, untainted by anything else.

He scrambles to his feet and bends down close over Stiles's face. "Stiles?" he whispers, not daring to believe. "Stiles, are you - are you there?"

It takes a moment that seems like eternity, but it happens nevertheless. Stiles slowly opens his eyes, and blinks up at Derek. "Hello," he whispers, his voice so low it's almost not there at all. 

Derek is aware of, and at the same time indifferent to, the tears he's dripping on Stiles's face. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice shaking. "Welcome back."

"After a speech like that, how could I not come back?"

Derek stares incredulously at Stiles. "You could hear me?"

"Every word," Stiles tells him, and there is a small smile playing about his lips. "Even the bits you said you weren't gonna repeat."

Derek flushes slightly. "Good. I was serious about not repeating it."

"That's all right," Stiles says, and offers Derek a full smile that despite its tiredness and fatigue is stunning in its intensity. "I happen to love you too, PMS and all. Funny how things work, huh?"

"No, not really," Derek answers, before closing the space between them.

* * *

  
To his dying day Derek will maintain he did not cry like a baby when Stiles was given a clean bill of health. And forever, Stiles and Scott and a sobbing Sheriff will tell you otherwise. 

White smells a lot like hope now, Derek would say. But anyone with half a brain will tell you colors don't smell.

 


End file.
